Writing On The Wall
by BananaCrime
Summary: Mila would never have guessed she would end up caught in a crossfire between a certain clown and his personal vendetta. And he would never have guessed that a random girl would be so much fun to mess with.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

"I'm sorry, of _course_ , you must not be used to compliments." Gesturing toward his face with an upturned palm, she huffed, feeling defensive. Her nice remark wasn't originally even sarcastic, but now she hoped it sounded it…. because the son of a bitch deserved to get his irrepressible ego stepped all over.

"But you probably don't even have the ability to feel flattery or anything remotely pleasant do you?"

"Oh, take my word for it, I'm blushing madly under here." He towered over her, one foot stepping forward. In an instant, the mood changed knowing she had crossed a line. A shudder rippled through her and she felt butterflies in her stomach. The urge to run was overwhelming, but she couldn't move. Her legs felt paralyzed, a tingle in her throat causing her to gulp nervously. As the distance between them lessened, she found the strength to step back just once before she hit the cement wall and her face was then doused in red light from the utility lamp above her. She turned her head to the right and away from him, closing her eyes, ready for a blow or some sort of pain.

"Hmm…" He hummed deeply.

First there was a heavy vibration and then her eyelids lit up and she opened them to see that a train was emerging from the curve at the tunnel. Her eyes widened at this and she looked at him for a moment, glancing around, searching for a depression in the wall to slip into. There was one a few meters to her left. He, however, didn't even blink, a slight grin on his face, daring her to move. What the hell was he going to do, let them both get run over? She started to her left but was halted by his arm shooting out and his fingers wrapping around her neck, holding her back against the wall.

"Let me go!" She shook violently, eyes darting between him and the oncoming train. Her hands were clawing at his arm. He then proceeded to pull her away from the wall by the neck and turn them both so they had switched places, him against the wall and her held out, barely an inch away from the train track. She shrieked, digging her nails into the skin of his wrist where the leather glove ended. He barely seemed to notice, his black eyes cutting deep into hers, with the persistent smirk.

"Wait for it…" He chuckled.

"Oh my god, let me go, you motherfucker!" The terror and anger she felt was indescribable. She screamed at the top of her lungs but the train blasting its horn frantically drowned out her voice.

His painted face lit up as the train light neared, mouth in a wide open yellow grin, face screwed up, but eyes never once letting go of her as he let out a roar of deranged laughter audible even over the horn.

* * *

CHAPTER 1

It was unpleasantly humid as the sun was setting on yet another depressing summer Friday in the city of Gotham. It had been hot and rainy the entire week, and before that, a lovely combination of cold and muggy. Even after nine months of the ever-changing weather, Mila still had yet to grow accustomed.

She lay in nothing but her poka-dot panties on her living room couch - eyes closed, sweat beads making her skin glisten before letting loose to roll down parts of her face. It probably wasn't necessarily helping being almost nude but the idea of having clothes on was just appalling. It had to have been ten minutes ago that she plopped down there in frustration. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes and let them rest on various parts of the room.

A table lamp on the stand next to her couch illuminated the room from one corner, casting dramatic shadows which revealed the unevenness of the hastily painted walls. The shadows almost seemed to move in some areas… oh wait. No, that was just another cockroach. She had encountered enough of those here that all she could do was sigh. _It's fine. Everything's alright._ She would mouth this to herself.

Her attention turned up and upside down from where she lay, toward the kitchen, to glare at that atrocious dark yellow wallpaper with weird, squiggly green lines that looked like clumps of hair. It was truly hideous, but judging by the good condition it was in, it was a recent addition. As was the carpet. Who knew why the landlord decided those two were the only two aspects of the apartment that required renovation before she moved in? She shuddered to imagine how ugly the walls beneath the wallpaper were for pukey green and yellow to be an improvement. On top of being a pest-ridden potato of an apartment, it was on the fifth level of a building that had no central air. A truly winning combination to make for a perfect, amphibious habitat. Countless other problems with regularly clogging drains, thin walls and the rough neighborhood it was located in would be enough to scare off many potential tenants but the one thing that worked for Mila was that this place was _very, very cheap_ for a one-bedroom and even had its own little in-unit laundry room. It was also the first time she had ever lived alone.

Now, the only roommate she tolerated was Elvis - her Russian blue cat. He liked to sleep on the windowsill and dream of air conditioning too, she was sure.

"Kss kss kss kss!" She tapped on the floor next to the couch with her index finger, beckoning Elvis to come near her. To no avail.

"Kss kss kss!" She raised her head to look at him, as he too did the same, giving her a look before curling back up.

"Damn you." Her head dropped back. She let out a deep sigh and sat up slowly. It was 7:39 pm, said the microwave. She forced herself to her feet and walked lazily to the fridge.

"This is what happens when they schedule me for a morning shift." She opened the fridge. "I never know what the hell to do with myself for the rest of the day. Right, Elvis?" She looked over to him. He didn't move. She stood there for a minute enjoying the cold hair from the appliance gently caressing her body.

Her phone vibrated loudly twice against the kitchen counter, signifying a text message. She picked it up and looked.

"Hmm."

It was another blank text message from an unknown number. The first one came earlier in the day, during her shift. It looked like the message was supposed to have an attachment that wouldn't load, missing the normal text bubble. Giving it a quizzical look, she closed it and set it down. Her phone had been dropped so many times that it was probably generating some weird glitch.

Reaching into the fridge, she grabbed the one beer she had left, which was a bottle of Hoegaarden, and one lemon. She went for the drawer to grab a knife to cut the fruit and froze when she heard a rhythmic thumping on the wall which got louder and louder.

"Here we go again." She raised her brows and pursed her lips, grabbing the knife, cutting into the citrus, popping the beer open with the knife handle and squeezing the lemon juice her beer bottle, all just in time for the sweet sound of 'oh, oh, Oh! Yeah! Fuck me HARDer Jimmy!' to fill the air.

"Oh! Oh Elvis, yes! YES!" She mocked her neighbor, smiling to herself, not loud enough for them to hear, especially over the moaning. Loud enough for her cat to turn around with wide eyes as if he understood what she was saying though. She took a sip of beer.

"That piece of shit… you know, I'm pretty sure at this point that he does this on purpose." She shook her head. She was referring to her neighbor Jim, who would violate her with his eyes at every encounter and take any chance he could to make inappropriate comments when they ran into each other in the hallways or, god forbid, the elevator alone. No matter how many times she made it clear that his advances were not welcome, even once telling him she had a knife in her purse, he just laughed it off and acted like she was denying herself what she really wanted.

"What does he think? That I'm gonna hear them having sex and be so aroused that I just have to have some of that? UGH. Like a dick pic in the form of sound." Elvis was a good listener.

This was almost every other night for the past few weeks, after the first time Jim took notice of her. She didn't pay attention to exactly when he moved in next door but she knew it was at least a few months ago, and right up until they met face to face, she hardly ever heard a peep besides the occasional music on loud through the wall. Then, it was like he made it his mission to bring over his girlfriend and fuck her into oblivion, making sure she was screaming at the top of her lungs for Mila to hear.

"Man, I am tired of hearing this song." She said to him.

"And yet, here I am, drinking with you and not going out making music of my own. _Why_ is that?" She took a big swig of her beer, savoring the chill and carbonation stinging at her throat. The moaning continued as the pace of the thumping escalated.

'Yeah! Yeah, oh God, Jimmy, oh you're so big!' The noises appalled her. Not because of the sex itself but it was giving her images that she could live without. Those images would make that douchebag way too satisfied. She then found herself wondering what he had to compensate if it wasn't his penis size. Then again, girls are good liars when they need to be.

"Fuckin' asshole." She took a sip. Her cat suspiciously stared at the wall where the noise was coming from.

"Alright.. That's it. I'm not about to stand around listening to that bastard fucking while I drink here alone in the nude…. for any longer." She took her beer to the shower with her right after blasting a random electronica compilation from youtube to cover up the noise.

* * *

When she was done showering, the two love pigeons were, thank christ, also finished.

It was ten minutes from nine by the time she was ready, opting for a black, floral skater dress, some spandex shorts for underneath because it was always windy, and simple black two inch heels. She wore her brunette hair down, but made sure to wear two thin hair ties around her right wrist just in case she needed them. Finally she filled her small leather backpack with a few makeups, a little hairbrush, and her keys. The finishing touch was a small folding knife - the one she warned Jim about.

"Here you go, puddin pop." She smiled at Elvis as she filled his large food bowl to the very top. "Hold down the fort while I'm gone." The smell of cigarettes suddenly assaulted her senses. "Ugh someone is smoking indoors again. How pleasant. Guess I'm getting out of here just in time."

She grabbed her phone/wallet holder and flipped it open, texting a few of her coworkers to see if they were up to anything. They'd most likely be still at work, but the restaurant closed at ten, so it wouldn't be long before they were out. Her plan now was to take the bus somewhere further from The Narrows, where it was significantly safer and more vibrant. She'd have a drink or two at a bar while she waited. If no one would respond… well, she would be on her own. Again. Left to fend off the creeps by herself. Luckily her experience with creeps up close had been limited only to her neighbor. She knew better than to prance around the outdoor area of her residence too often.

As luck would have it, upon exiting the door to her apartment, Jim was standing there, to her left, and it became all too apparent where the nasty stench was coming from. Douchebag was smoking outside his door in the hallway with nothing but some loose pajama pants on. He was even barefoot and the carpet had all sorts of mysterious stains on it. Gross.

"Hey, mamacita." He said, with a crooked smile.

He had a golden tooth and a few tattoos on his neck, chest and arms… and honestly he wasn't that bad looking either. It was clear he went to the gym regularly, but holy fuck did he have a rotten core. He could have it all but he chose to be a piece of shit.

"Look at you, lookin' all sexy just for me. I didn't make you jealous fuckin' my other girl, did I?" He puffed on his cig.

"Seriously, get over yourself." She rolled her eyes as visibly as she could and turned to her right to walk down toward the elevator when she suddenly felt the air shift behind her. She turned to see Jim had stepped up behind her and lifted the back of her dress. Immediately, she spun around and attempted to slap him but he stepped out of the way.

"What the _FUCK_ is _WRONG WITH YOU_!?" She was seething.

"Aww, don't cover up that nice ass for me next time with those shorts, alright, mami?" He laughed.

Mila saw red and started forward toward him, hands in tight, ready fists.

"Keep your fucking hands off of me, you fucking asshole. I swear to fucking God!"

"Jimmy, what the _fuck_?!" A female voice sounded from his apartment. "Pinche cabron! Again!?"

Caught red handed. Apparently not the first time. _That's right, asshole._

What followed was a series of what she guessed were a lot of rude remarks thrown around in Spanish at one another as she walked down the hallway and pressed the button for the elevator. When it arrived, she pulled back the retro elevator gate and stepped in. The last thing she heard was "Pudrete en el infierno!" as door slammed hard enough to shake the building, and lastly, Jim's voice "Hey fucking bitch, open the fucking door!"

Mila grinned to herself. Asshole got himself locked out of his own place. Sweet sweet karma, you did it again.

* * *

She was on the bus already by the time she got a text back from her coworker, Bridgette.

 _9:16pm **B** : i gotta close today. where u gonna be_

 _9:16pm **M** : I think I'm going to Merc's first. They have $2 domestic tonight. Then idk. Text me when you're off._

 _9:16pm **B** : k. its soooo hot today_

 _9:17pm **M** : I know. Oh Jesus I have to tell you what happened with my stalker neighbor right before I left!_

 _9:18pm **B** : waaat! tell me now_

 _9:18pm **M** : I'll tell you when we meet._

 _9:18pm **B** : come ooon. its so slow here n im bored_

 _9:26pm **B** : is this ur way of making sure i dont stand you up lol_

 _9:31pm **B** : fine, i see how it is_

At 9:42, Mila sat at the bar, which was slowly filling up with more people. She sipped on a pint glass of bud light. She required nothing fancy when the beers were costing only two bucks. Normally she would chat it up with the bartender but she didn't recognize the one tonight and didn't feel like making any new friends just yet. Instead, she sipped and watched the television which was playing the news with captions.

Now, normally the news wouldn't catch her attention, or rather she wouldn't know what to believe what came flashing on the screen, which was always something about rich people or random violence in Gotham. But from time to time, like in this instance, it was slightly more interesting.

It was about that Joker guy. The man who had single-handedly raised hell in the entire city about 9 months back. At the time, she was living in the suburbs with her family. She had witnessed all of it go down from afar, from over the internet, sometimes GCN, but her favorite source of news had to be late-night talk shows. Naturally, as if the entire idea of the City of Gotham was structured around being a depressing, dark kingdom of sorrow, it was one of the biggest cities in the U.S. in which no late-night talk shows were based. The task of cheering up the Gotham citizens was left to the other cities' and their very limited experience with the subjects to interpret the horrific events that went on, especially when the Joker made his debut.

It was as if they were all patting Gotham on the back and telling her _It'll be alright. You just gotta look at the bright side. We have crimes here too. We know how you feel._ When in reality, they had absolutely no idea.

She had to hand it to those talk-show hosts though, they had balls. Probably only because they were not in the direct vicinity of Joker's wrath. For someone nicknamed The Joker, he was no laughing matter. Most of the skits on those shows, while delivering news, were very focused on the Batman, who was easy to make fun of, and occasionally inserting mentions of the Joker. Reddit seemed to think it was firstly because making light of this terrorist was offensive and secondly, the guy might develop a grudge against anyone attempting at it and few would be crazy enough to risk being on his naughty list. One of the more taboo jokes that became viral was the idea that Batman and the Joker were romantically involved. There were even a few youtube channels by self-certified livingroom psychologists in which their secret affair was justified because of how they were both insane and fulfilling each other's emotional voids. Needless to say, people were obsessed with them.

Mila found it fascinating too, in her own way. One might ask her why she chose to move to this city so soon after the Joker's attacks. She didn't look at it that way though. Not only had he been captured, finally, but she had also been planning to the city for quite a while. It just so happened that during that terrifying month, so many people moved out of the city that rent prices had dropped drastically. She could have possibly afforded a better place than the one she settled for but she really didn't need to live beyond her means.. She knew she wasn't great with money and the place she signed the lease for was only $300 a was unbeatable..

When she first moved in, the word was that after the Joker was put away, the crime in the city was practically at a standstill for some time. Even with the Batman gone, like the citizens, criminals were not entirely convinced that Joker wasn't around, as he was quite an escape artist, and who really knew with the Batman, who was elusive enough as it was. That was only for a few months, the first few of Mila's lease, when things were quiet and the dust was settling. Enough time had passed though, now, that things were slowly starting to get ugly again. More pedestrians on the sidewalks of the former ghost city… and more random violence and gangs beginning to form or come out of hiding.

The air was changing. Things were getting louder. The city was waking up from a coma.

The captions read:

'MORE THAN HALF A YEAR AGO, THE TERRORIST NICKNAMED 'THE JOKER' WAS SEIZED BY AUTHORITIES AND PLACED INTO THE ELIZABETH ARKHAM ASYLUM FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE. HIS IDENTITY IS THUS FAR STILL DETONATING BOMBS IN GOTHAM NATIONAL BANK AND GOTHAM GENERAL HOSPITAL WITH OVER 18 FATALITIES AND 29 WOUNDED, SOME INCLUDING MEMBERS OF HIS OWN TERRORIST ORGANIZATION, THREATS TO SET OFF BOMBS ON 2 FERRIES, SHOTS FIRED AT CITIZENS AND AUTHORITIES AT THE FUNERAL SERVICE OF THE LATE COMMISSIONER GILLIAN B. LOEB, FATALLY POISONED AS A RESULT OF WHAT IS BELIEVED TO BE THE JOKER'S CRIMINAL SCHEMES.'

Mila watched with fascination. She had followed the events in reference way back when but hearing it all in a few sentences sort of shocked her. That guy was fucking crazy… what makes a person go off and do a series of things so bold and terrible? And how, after capturing, questioning and probably doing all sorts of DNA and fingerprint analyses, did they still not know who this guy was?

Live footage from the attacks and photos of him flashed on the screen including mug shots of him sans the face paint. _Whoa. On top of all his crazy, he was a looker._

"Huh!" Mila made a noise like _who woulda thunk it?_ Another guy with dashing looks ruined by a decayed core. Well.. dashing looks besides those scars. She imagined the Joker's reaction at being called a pretty boy for a moment. But the look in his eye was otherworldly. There was no color in his eyes. Maybe it was the photo, but there was something behind them that made her shudder.

'JUDGE JANET SURILLO IS ALSO BELIEVED TO BE A VICTIM, FATALLY BURNED BY A BOMB PLACED AT THE BASE OF HER CAR AND DETONATED BY THE START OF THE ENGINE. VICTIMS WERE NOT LIMITED TO PHYSICAL DAMAGE BUT MANY HAVE REPORTED BEING MENTALLY TRAUMATIZED BY THE EVENTS THAT TOOK PLACE LAST FALL AS THERE HAS BEEN A SIGNIFICANT INCREASE IN VISITS TO SOCIAL WORKERS AND PSYCHOLOGISTS. THE JOKER IS NOW BEING HELD AT ARKHAM UNDER HIGHEST LEVEL SECURITY.'

"What a fucking wackjob. He's probably with that cult… the Isis!" Some guy grumbled to his friends behind her.

"It's just Isis, Charles." Another guy replied with much attitude. _Whoa now._ "Anyway, the Joker formed his own cult. And as you could see, he was as white as you or me."

" _Uh, okay_. It's just _Joker_ , Hawk." _Hawk?_ Charles was clearly not amused at being corrected by… _Hawk._

Mila still hadn't turned around to look at these people but their conversation sounded rather juvenile for people who were supposed to be of legal age to drink.

"Too bad!" A girl's shrill voice. "He's like.. really pretty!"

Mila almost choked, and spun around in her stool, happy that she wasn't the only one who thought so. "I know, right!?" She raised her hand for a high five and noticed the group who had been conversing were decked out in mega-goth drab. _Oh_. She thought to herself. The girl who had made the statement was a very... _voluptuous_ one, to put it very lightly, with bright red hair, black lipstick and fishnet stockings, held together just barely by a very tight velvet dress with a plunging neckline. She was like a sluttier, red-haired, overweight Elvira. The girl smiled and returned her with an awkward, flamboyant high five.

"That's the last time I high five anyone. But just 'cause you're like the only person who agrees with me." She said with a wink. "We should break him outta the nut house and become his hot juggalette sex slaves." She giggled.

Mila didn't mean to judge but couldn't help assuming that the girl's tastes were more focused on the shock factor, which included exclaiming her attraction to a creepy terrorist clown. But then again, at least she was open about it. The guy was good looking, she had no doubt that many girls would agree, but that guy also probably wouldn't think twice about murdering a child. She briefly recalled her days in highschool when her and her friends were going through a little goth phase, fascinated by serial killers, looking up info on Charles Manson and such. One of her friends was always joking - maybe joking - about how she would have loved to be a part of the Manson family and have _'rape sex with Charlie!'_. Looking back, she shook her head, cringing inwardly, but clearly this girl in front of her was stuck in that phase…. or going through it later in her life than one normally would.

"Amy, you know the guy would probably prefer to fuck you with his knife, right?" Charles said. Hah, _Charles_. Now she got it. She could barely keep a straight face because he seemed… rather jealous.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Its Amethyst, not Amy. It's fine with me. I don't mind a little blood in my orgasm. So whatd'ya say, pretty?" Amethyst looked at Mila, expectantly. Now it almost seemed like the girl was sizing her up. Trying to get a reaction of some sort.

Mila finished off the last of the beer in her pint glass, her eyebrows raised, unsure of how to respond to the proposal.

"Another one for ya?" A man's voice asked behind her. She turned her head, to see the bartender leaning in with a big toothy grin and worried look in his eyes.

"Yes, please." She turned back to the goth squad for a moment and gave a little wave with her hand to awkwardly dismiss herself from the conversation before spinning on her stool to face the bar again. The bartender filled up another glass while looking at her and the people she was talking to briefly as if to say he was trying to save her from the conversation. Mila nodded subtly as if to thank him.

He set the full glass on a paper coaster, slid it forward to her and leaned in closely.

"Sorry, I couldn't keep listening to them pull you into that."

"I wasn't sure how long I could keep it up, so thank you." She smiled.

"I'm Jeff." He stuck out his hand.

"Mila." She shook it.

"Well, Mila, it's a pleasure. Keep yourself out of trouble."

"I'll be sure to do that. Thanks again." She raised her glass in salute and took a drink.

Her phone lit up and vibrated against her boob. She didn't have pockets and didn't want to keep removing her backpack to access it so she had slipped it underneath her left bra strap where it met the cup. She checked it.

It was another blank text from an unknown number. The third one today.

She looked at the time. 10:03pm. Sigh. Slipping a coaster over her glass, she got up to make her way through people toward the bathroom. As she sat and relieved her bladder, she examined the walls peppered in messages, thoughts of the moment by drunk girls mid-piss.

 **CRAIG + MANDY FOREVER! #YOLO #HO-MANCE**

 **You are beautiful. UGLY BITCH. KILL YOURSELF**

 **Babies r born without kneecaps?**

 **I am peeing.**

 **Eat more pussy.**

 **Someday you'll find someone who'll never stop making you laugh.**

 **I (heart) POLISH PENIS.**

 **don't look for someone who will solve your problems, look for someone who will face them with you.**

She retrieved her keys which contained a small keychain sharpie and wrote: **Some ass clown has been sending me blank texts all day.** Then she drew a little shrugging gerbil rodent creature next to it with a little question mark next to its head. Not her best work but it was still early in the night.

She got an idea. With her phone camera, she snapped a picture of her little creation. If she got another one of those texts, she would reply with that photo. Sure, could have been a phone glitch, but on the chance that it wasn't, hopefully it ward off whoever was doing it.

After washing her hands and checking herself in the mirror, she exited the restroom to make her way back to her stool. As she approached it, she spotted Bridgette digging for her ID card in her oversized purse at the door for the bouncer. She sat and waited for Bridgette to look up and raised her hand up to grab her attention. She took notice with a huge grin and rushed over.

"Hey!" She went in for a hug, her perfume filling the air instantaneously. She seemed a little out of breath. "I convinced Carlos to close instead and it was so slow, I did my sidework early. Oh my god, I feel so gross, I didn't even change because I wanted to get out of there before he changed his mind!" Bridgette was still in her uniform which was a white button up, vest and tie, undone, and black slacks.

"Come with me. And tell me what happened with your neighbor. The anticipation is killing me." Bridgette said, half sarcastically.

"Fine. But I'm taking my beer with me." She grabbed her glass, the paper coaster falling off the top, to head back to the bathroom with her.


	2. Chapter 2

_*****Real quick, I had uploaded this chapter before but decided after working on more of the story that it ended on a note that didn't feel like the end of a chapter so I added more to it. If you read it before you might be wondering why it looks familiar. That's why. Bon Apetit.******_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

She loved going out with Bridgette. Bridgette would get too drunk and that's when the adventures really began. She was a wild card, hitting on guys or rejecting unwelcome pursuers shamelessly. Bridgette was the friend who would get wasted and dance on top of the bar, befriend the DJ to locate the after party, or end up getting the both of them invited to do cocaine in the basement of the establishment with the employees. Sometimes it was a little much but it certainly made for some interesting memories.. or occasionally, lack of, spending the next morning trying to put pieces of the night together over coffee, breakfast quesadillas, and Advil.

They were in the bathroom, Bridgette shuffling around, changing in the big stall. Mila leaned against the sink counter, taking sips of her beer. She was drinking too slowly. It was beginning to go flat.

She was finishing up telling Bridgette about her little interaction with Jim.

"Yeah, and then his girlfriend comes out and catches him hitting on me and locks him out!"

"Wow... Serves his ass right."

Her phone buzzed. Another blank text. Fine, then. She attached the image of her comment and pressed send, sliding her phone back under her bra strap with satisfaction.

Barely ten seconds later, her phone vibrated again.

* * *

 _10:14pm **#:** clown huh, look whos talkin_

 _10:14pm **#:** u not getn the pics? wtf wuts w the gay lil rat?_

* * *

 _Rat?_

"Hey, Bridge?" Mila said.

"Yeah? I'm still here." Bridgette replied.

"So I've been getting these weird blank texts all day."

"...uhuh? You're not the only one who's been getting… wait.. did you draw this on the wall in here? With the gerbil?"

"Thank you, its clearly a gerbil, right? I just sent them a photo of it and they think its a rat!" Mila chuckled.

"So you called them an ass clown. And rightly so. Any response?"

Bridgette emerged from the stall in a black tank top and tight jeans with holes. She was a very curvy girl.. thick in all the right places.

"Here, I'll just show you." Mila held out her phone to her.

Bridgette looked it over for a few moments.

"...mind if I respond on your behalf?" Bridgette had a mischievous glint in her eye but Mila shrugged it off. Not like it mattered what she wrote to the a stranger.

* * *

 _10:14pm **M:** Its a gerbil, you illiterate lard._

 _10:15pm **#:** those r sum big words, Lox. better boss dont catch u slackn off drawin sum shit wen we got work 2 do_

* * *

It was obvious by now that this person had the wrong number.

"Oh.. some kind of important pictures, huh?" Bridgette beamed with curiosity.

"Play along." Mila smiled, finishing off the last of her beer.

* * *

 _10:16pm **M:** You're right. Chill out. And no I didn't get any of them. Send again. Try a smaller file size._

 _10:16pm **#:** Lox i aint no fone expert. y u gettn all fancy on me? I no i found the right place, i took pics but idk y they wont send_

 _10:16pm **M:** Send again please. Change the size._

 _10:17pm **#:** how do i do it_

 _10:17pm **M:** Figure it out, genius._

* * *

After that, no immediate responses came. Bridgette lined her eyes heavily with makeup.

"What kind of name is Lox?" She asked. "I kinda like it."

"Oh I've already encountered a few people with strange names tonight... I wonder what the pictures are."

"Dick pics." Bridgette said all-knowingly.

"Yeah, you wish."

* * *

It was half past midnight and the bar was full to its limits, a line at the entrance visible through the huge window at the front. The music was louder and in the middle of the floor, to the side of the bar, a tight crowd of people had gathered to move to it. Mila and Bridgette were at the bar.

"You ladies want another one?!" Jeff had become friendly very fast, especially when Bridgette introduced herself. She was able to get several rounds of shots on the house for them already and they weren't counting how many beers in their were either.

"Only if you take one with us, Jeffrey!" Bridgette smiled at him flirtatiously. She seemedto be quite fond of him.

"Alright, but don't tell the bossman!" He said, leaning in. He lined up three double shot glasses and filled them with Jameson.

With all of them raised in salute, Mila said, "To dick pics!" Bridgette threw her head back laughing before they downed them.

"Did you get a text back yet?" Bridgette asked.

"You into that sort of thing?" Jeff asked, unaware of what they were referring to.

"I don't know Jeffrey, why don't you send me some and find out?" Bridgette was getting pretty drunk, as Mila could tell by her body language, being very suggestive and forward, not to mention her half-lidded eyes, trying to appear more mysterious and sexy. Mila herself was at that point where she had to begin pacing herself. Too many shots in too little time.

"Hey, juggalette!" A hand with black painted nails appeared on her right shoulder. She turned toward the voice. It was that goth girl, Amethyst, from earlier. "Wanna come dance with me? Give the boys something to jerk it to?"

Mila was intoxicated enough for that to sound like an appealing idea so she stood up and followed her to the floor, while Bridgette was busy scribbling down what was most likely her phone number on a napkin for Jeff. She wasn't generally a fan of dancing in public but with enough to drink, now she found herself doing just that. Amethyst took Mila's hands and placed them on her girthy waist, beginning to gyrate to the beat of Deadmau5 rumbling all the way up to her throat. They were near a large speaker and Mila felt the air blowing from it up her skirt and she soon found herself dancing in sync with her dancefloor kidnapper. All around her were sweaty people and deafening bass. Someone was behind her now, pressing against her back. She turned her head to see that guy, _Hawk_. He had septum, lip and eyebrow piercings, gauged earlobes and long black hair that was buzzed at the sides and slicked back.

Funny, she hadn't found him to be attractive when she first saw him but now she was liking the way he felt, pressed up against her. Back in high school, she was sort of into that kind of guy but she had changed drastically since then. She was young and never really indulged in anything sexual, being somewhat prudish back then. But a pang of warm nostalgia filled her and she found herself having an urge to embrace him, to finally get her long lost fantasy out of her system. She felt his chest and arms wrap around her from behind and his hands at her hips. Amethyst barely seemed to notice their presence, her faced turned toward the ceiling, eyes closed, focusing on the music and dancing.

"You're a sexy bitch, you know that?" She felt his face next to her ear, puffs of his breath making her feel ticklish. His hands moved forward and slid down her inner thighs. She pushed him back with her butt to try to keep him from going further, but he took it differently and thrust his hips forward into her. Amethyst's hands then cupped her face and she went in for a kiss. They made out briefly before Mila pulled back. She felt Hawk at her ear again.

"No, keep going, juggalette." He squeezed her hips tightly. They were both pressing against her so hard that she could barely catch her breath. As if on queue, that last shot really hit her. It almost felt as if the air around her became heavy. She felt it in her lungs, her stomach, her head and it was an all too familiar feeling… she needed fresh air.

"Excuse me, I have to go find my frie-." For a split second, she had passed out, but regained consciousness still on her feet as both of them had her pinned in place.

"Please, I need to go!" She inched her way out from between them. His hand grasped at her wrist and she yanked it away, turning to glare at him intensely before turning back and making her way to the bar.

Bridgette was gone, and Jeff was nowhere to be found. There were so many people at the bar that she wouldn't get the attention of any other bartender to ask. She looked around, trying to see if she could spot Bridgette anywhere but to no avail. _Where was she? The room was spinning, her face was numb. It was so loud all of a sudden. Too loud._

" 'ssscuse me guys!" She slipped past people and out the front door, away from the chaos and walked over to sit on the curb. Her head spun and her stomach felt empty. She looked at her phone, and it just looked like a white blur of light. She blinked hard and her vision cleared just enough to make out '4 New Messages from Unknown'.

That wasn't her priority at the moment so she instead called Bridgette, and after six tries, there was still no answer.

"Hey, you need a ride?" She looked up to see a taxi driver had pulled up. She looked around once more for her friend and decided she couldn't continue her evening even if she did find her. She was far too drunk.

"Uh… yeah." She barely pulled herself up to get into the car, telling him the address and resting her head back for a few moments before forcing herself to snap out of it. _Don't pass out in the cab, Mila._ She opened the text app to send Bridgette a message but it opened directly to the exchange between her and the stranger.

The pictures came through.

* * *

 _ **There was a photo of her livingroom.**_

 _ **Of her bedroom**_ **.**

 _ **Of her kitchen with that ugly wallpaper.**_

 _ **And her refrigerator with text underneath**_ _. 'he said its behind here but we cant rip it up with the girl here.'_

* * *

"Wha.. _wha- th'fuhh?_ " Mila slurred, her head shaking from side to side in confusion. Her fingers tapped at the screen frantically:

* * *

 _01:13am **M:** WOH IS THIS?_

* * *

Then, darkness.

* * *

There was a strange scraping sensation on her nose… it moved to her forehead and back to her nose again. Mila's body tingled, her arms and legs felt numb. Her eyes opened with some effort, eyelids unsticking from one another due to her makeup which had practically glued them shut. When she finally did manage to open them, it was bright and blurry and she could see a small shadow in her face, moving around.

It was Elvis, lapping at her nose and forehead with his sandpaper tongue, but she could barely understand the feeling as her face was still desensitized. Her cheek was against hard floor, her arms trapped beneath her chest and cutting off circulation. Her muscles wouldn't do the work so she flipped her body to release her arms from the trap, feeling coldness, then sharp, unpleasant tingling as feeling returned to them. She took a deep breath and blinked a few times to see that she had passed out on the kitchen floor, right in front of the front door, knocking over Elvis's foodbowl in the process. Pieces of cat food surrounded her head and were probably in her hair as well.

The next things she noticed were nausea and a throbbing headache that gradually made themselves apparent.

"God… what the _fuck_ …." With one hand on her forehead, she pushed herself off the floor and sat up, leaning against the lower kitchen cabinet. She then noticed her backpack on the floor near the front door, next to one of her shoes. With her foot, she hooked it and pulled it over, looking inside for her phone. It wasn't there. Where was it? What had happened? Oh yeah, she was trying to find Bridgette.

But she had some sort of strange feeling like something bad had happened. What was it? Did something happen with that guy?

She stood up, shakily, and searched the kitchen for her phone. Then her livingroom. She really had to pee. She walked into the bathroom and threw open the door, getting to the toilet. _Oh that felt good._

She sat there for a few moment after she was finished, leaned forward on the toilet, eyes closed and remembered.

Her dry, reddened eyes shot open immediately.

 _The photos. The photos! They were of her apartment from the inside! Someone had been in her apartment!_

Panic set in and made her head throb infinity worse. She stood up, her eyes searching desperately in the bathroom for her phone. Not in here. She flung herself back into the livingroom, eyes darting all over the area. She checked her purse again, and her couch and finally went into the bedroom to find it casually in the middle of her untouched bed. She froze.

She found 8 missed calls and 3 text messages from Bridgette. She skipped past them to look for the exchange with the photos and….

 _They were gone. HOW WERE THEY GONE!? The entire conversation had been deleted! Did she delete them in her drunken state?_

She sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at her phone in disbelief, her mind blank. How can they be gone? How can they possibly be..

 _Oh my god… someone had come and deleted them last night while she was out._

"Hello!? Is anyone in here?" Mila swallowed anxiously. "Hello?!" There was only one room she hadn't checked so far. She walked over through the living room, around her desk to a door at the left of it and placed her hand at the laundry room doorknob. Pausing briefly, she pulled open the door. It was a tiny room, the size of a small walk-in closet, so she could see without turning the light on that there was no one there. Shutting it, she walked over to sit on her couch and tried to think what all of this could mean.

 _Who would be in here taking photos of her apartment, and why…. and when? Obviously when she wasn't home. They had her number and obviously accidentally texted her these things. More than one person was involved. And on top of that, the person said something about a 'boss'? What was this all about? Were they stalking her? And who had erased the conversation?_

 _...And… why was her phone in the bedroom? She had clearly passed out right as she walked through the front door. Her bedsheets were untouched from when she had made her bed the day before.. Yes… someone had definitely been here again…..._

She looked at her phone. Bridgette. Hey hands trembled as she picked it up. It was either from her nerves or her hangover, but more than likely a combination of both. She opened her texts. They were all of her asking where Mila was. She swiped to call her friend. It rang once.

 _"Mila?"_

"Hey, yeah."

 _"Mila, where the fuck did you go last night?_ " She sounded angry.

"I couldn't find you and I felt kinda sick… I'm sorry. Where did you go? You weren't answering."

 _"I was gone for like five minutes in the liquor room with that bartender. Literally only like five minutes! God I thought you'd been kidnapped or something!"_

"I'm sorry. I tried calling and I just... went home… listen. Something weird is going on. You know those texts I was getting?"

 _"Yeah?"_

"Well first of all, someone erased the entire-"

BZZZZZZZZZ!

The phone vibrated hard against her face, interrupting her. The screen went black. Her battery died. _Fuck_.

 _Oh, her head was killing her._ As calmly as she could, she got to her feet and walked into her room to get the charger from next to her bed and walked back to the living room to plug it in next to her couch. She knew it would be a few minutes before the thing would turn on again so she set it down on the windowsill.

As if sensing a presence behind her, she spun around to find no one but Elvis, sniffing around by the front door. She hurried over and shooed him away, peaking into the peephole. Turning the knob slowly, she opened it to examine the hallway. Empty. For a split second she eyed Jim's door, considering asking him to come into her apartment because she didn't feel safe but… she also knew that sort of invitation would be a regretful one in the future. Furthermore, god forbid that he felt like she should owe him something. Then again, was the risk worth it? She stared for a few moments longer and decided against it. Shutting the door, locking all the locks and the chain as well, she walked back to check on her phone. Not ready yet.

Her headache pounded and she was nauseous and hungry. She hadn't even bothered to check what time it was. The microwave said 9:02am. Two advils and a few cold leftover slices of pizza later, she was on her way to recovering. She checked her phone again. Finally.

 _She should call the cops but.. What would she say? The texts were gone. They would be able to access phone records some other way, wouldn't they? Would they even bother? The cops in this city were notorious for their incompetence. She almost felt like she had imagined the whole thing but… then why would the whole conversation be gone? Did she erase it by accident? She wasn't sure what to do. The least she could do was try to talk to the police, though._

Sighing deeply, she dialed 9-1-1 and pressed Call.

As she held the phone to her ear, she tried to think of where she would begin her explanation. She'd never called cops before. _Hi, someone's stalking me. Hi, I got some anonymous texts and they were of pictures of my house. Hi, a wrong number texted me and my friend and I pretended to be someone else to mess with them and now it's all deleted and… Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

BZZZZ!

 _What now?_ She took the phone away from her face. It was a text from an unknown number.

* * *

 _09:06am **#** : I would hang up if I were you._

* * *

She stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded.

" _911, What's the standing emergency?"_ A female voice answered.

* * *

 _09:06am **#** : NOW_

* * *

Her finger tapped red button to end the call. Whoever this was clearly had installed some sort of spyware on her phone. If they could get into her house before, they could do it now. She had a sinking feeling that she'd be better off at this moment if she obeyed. With a deep sigh, she tried to remain calm so that her fading headache didn't come back full throttle. _It'll be fine. Keep your shit together._

* * *

 _09:07am **M** : Who is this? Why are you doing this?_

 _09:08pm **#** : What kind of name is Mila Yovenko? Russian? How many 26 year old Mila Yovenkos with family in the northwest suburbs of Gotham are there? Probably don't have to sift through too many to find the winner._

* * *

Turned out that her sinking feeling was right. Her breathing hitched as she read it. _Fuck_. They must have.. Maybe looked at her facebook or something. Of course. It wasn't that hard to get information these days which…. should have unnerved her to the core but also maybe meant that these people could be just regular people using resources that anyone could use by just looking at a smartphone.

This did however mean that these people wanted something from her. The breaking and entering was enough evidence of that but alluding to threatening her family felt like the next level. She hoped to hell it wasn't money they wanted because she didn't have much of that.

She knew one thing, however - the person writing to her was not the same one from the day before. This person could use complete sentences. She swallowed nervously thinking of how to respond. Halfway through typing "what do you want from me?", she deleted it and went with something else.. Something she hoped would elicit a more telling response. She knew this person wasn't the one who sent the photos and it was a mistake on someone else's behalf. If she accused this person of the stupid mistake, she might gain a slight upper hand by poking at their stupidity.

* * *

 _09:09am **M** : Why did you send me photos of my apartment?_

 _09:10am **#** : A better question is… do these look familiar to you?_

 _09:10am **#** : (A photo of several pairs of Mila's panties appeared, but stained in various places with dark red. There was no mistaking them, they were hers.)_

* * *

Mila swallowed a sudden urge to throw up. She stood up and walked slowly to her bedroom, into her closet and opened the underwear drawer. Digging around, she confirmed that the panties in the photo were, in fact, missing. She stood up straight, her hand covering her mouth and sighed, letting her eyes shut and her head shake side to side slightly.

 _This was… this was too much right now._

She walked back to her couch and hesitantly looked at her phone to find one more text message.

* * *

 _09:12am **#** : We found them in Rocko's back pocket but.. Something tells me you don't want them back with all of his blood and… other mysteeerious crusty stuff on them._

* * *

 _Oh. My. Fucking. God._ Mila shut her eyes tight as her head twisted sideways trying to erase that image. _Disgusting_. Immediately images of some nasty, bloated, sweaty pig-man huffing loudly as he unloaded himself into her panties which here wrapped around his blotchy penis filled her poor brain.

She cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. Obviously this fucker meant to get a reaction out of her and he wasn't going to fucking get it. At least not through text.

* * *

 _09:10am **M** : So what is it you want?_

 _09:11am **#** : Straight to the point, aren't we? I want you to refrain discussing anything regarding this to anyone, and I mean anyone, if you care for their well-being. Probably in your best interest to delete this conversation to prevent the temptation. I don't need any more interference. If you don't, I will have to make another stop by your apartment to delete it for you and I won't be so.. Unintrustive this time._

* * *

 _Oh, the nerve of this asshole! Interference? Unintrusive?_ _Breaking into her house and messing with her phone when one of his own people goes into her underwear fucking drawer and fuck knows what else? She'd have to burn everything in there now! And who the fuck texted who in the first place!_ She was seething! Another part of her, however, was terrified. This fucking city was so chock-full of fucked up people. They could be anywhere between common criminals to one of the new gangs. How could she know? So at that..

* * *

 _09:11am **M** : And who are you?_

 _09:12am **#** : Don't do anything stupid and you'll never have to find out._

* * *

 _It… it wasn't worth it. Goddamnit._ Getting in deep just to satisfy her own curiosity and quench her thirst to get back at whoever these people were just because she felt violated. Nothing had happened to her physically thus far and she preferred it that way. An alarm was going off in her head that it was a mistake not to contact the cops but she remembered all the online articles she'd read about their failures and tendencies to get duped by criminals or even be hired by them. So much that some mysterious guy was driven to take the entire city's safety into his own hands and in a goddamned bat costume. She wondered where he was now. Someone with such an intense need to protect the people of Gotham couldn't have just up and left, could he? Not after all that had happened already. He was probably holed up somewhere. She imagined it to be a labyrinth of sewer tunnels leading to a small room with a reading lamp. In one corner, his batsuit, in the other, a small mattress with dirty sheets and worn socks tossed at the side. A few changes of t-shirts and tidy-whities. No way he wore bunched up boxers under that tight suit.

Mila suddenly became acutely aware that her mouth way turned up in a smile, imagining Batman's undies. She immediately frowned and furrowed her brows in self-disgust. _How was she smiling after what was going on? What the hell is wrong with her? Is this some sort of defense mechanism bullshit? Has she lost her fucking mind?_ Rising to her feet, the urge to shower away the filth and mental fog poured over her. She felt gross… oily and still in yesterday's dress. Makeup smeared around her face and hair in clumps with cat food dangling in the strands. And speaking of which, she shot an angry glare at Elvis who was eating stray cat food pieces off of the floor near his bowl.

"You little shit! Random people coming in here and you did nothing!"

Elvis looked up at her with a bored look and walked off to lay down under her desk.

"Unbelievable." She muttered to herself as she stomped to the bathroom, making sure to lock the fucking door behind her.


End file.
